


In The Land of Fairy Tales - Thumbelina's Memiors

by Chibifukurou



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibifukurou/pseuds/Chibifukurou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Gothic retelling of the Fairy Tale of Thumbelina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Land of Fairy Tales - Thumbelina's Memiors

**In the Land of Fairy Tales**

By James Harper Phd.

Representative of the Society for the Preservation of Fairy Tales

 

 

 

_In this day and age the idea of somebody openly and freely persecuting a magic user or cursed being, would be considered ludicrous by the common person. What people like to forget is that this was not always the case. A recently as a hundred years ago laws forbidding the practice of magic and allowing for the exile of anyone suspected of using magic were still on the books. While I realize that people want to forget that dark time in our kingdom’s history, I do not agree that ignorance is acceptable. In fact I can imagine nothing worse than a future where everyone has forgot the lessons we learned in our troubled past. People need to know where they have come from in order to make sure they do not fall into the same traps of anger and discontentment_   
_. _   
__

_Let me begin my attempt to help you live a more informed life, by giving you a quick overview of how things got as bad as they did. _   
__

_About _   
_200_   
_ years ago, King Grant began his rule of our kingdom. He was young for a king, his mother and father having died under suspicious circumstances, circumstances that reeked of mag_   
_ic. Angry and disheartened the k_   
_ing decided that he would not let anyone else suffer the way he had, so he banned the use of magic and decreed that all magic users be exiled, lest they cause harm to his citizens. He felt that the use of magic would allow witches, sorcerers and the like to kill without consequence and wanted to make sure that such a thing was not possible. While his intentions were good, if a bit skewed, the follow through left a great deal to be desired. _   
__

_Despite his parents’ deaths, King Grant had lived a sheltered life and failed to realize the devastating consequences of the law he put into place. Our kingdom had long been made prosperous through dealings with magical beings such as fairies, elves, and centaurs. Beings who had control over nature and were willing to trade goods for their magical assistance in return for grain, fabric, spices, and other goods made and harvested by humans. _   
_Non-magical humans had begun to resent the taxes that were put into place to _   
_pay these magical beings and saw the law as an excuse to kill magical beings. Fortunately, full magical beings had long since learned to hide from most humans and few were caught or killed. Unfortunately_   
_, part-magical beings known as Changelings were not able to hide themselves away and were killed in droves. Even those who were exiled did not escape unscathed, as they knew nothing about the countries they ended up in, and often found themselves enslaved. In a hand-span of years, our kingdom went from being a prosperous and happy country to a country ruled by fear and persecution._   
__

_Realizing that their country was on the brink of disaster, a number of prosperous members of the aristocracy hatch_   
_ed a plan. They petitioned the king for the right to sponsor traveling shows that would provide a safe and legal haven for Changeling children to live and work in. The king agreed, though he enforced strict sanctions on what magical beings they were allowed to harbor. These sanction hand the unexpected side-effect of allowing cursed beings, people who were cursed by magic users or magical beings but had no magical abilities of their own, to find safety in the travelling shows, as well. These shows became known as circuses. They were transient shows that fed on the middle class’ obsession with the dangerous and the exotic. They gave the masses a sense of being able to safely gawk at those they considered a threat. It was not the kind of life anybody went seeking, but it was a culture all its own and it most of its performers agreed that it was better than constantly running for their lives. It also allowed them a chance to live with others like them, people who could understand their trials and tribulations. _   
__

_One of the most prosperous of these circuses was the Happily Ever After Circus. It boasted over thirty performers. Its most popular performer was Thumbelina Fairchild who is known for having risked her life dozens of times in order to rescue Changelings from death and slavery. While other circuses only took in those, Changelings that approached them directly, Happily Ever After, under Thumbelina’s control, not only sought out Changelings that needed assistance but also provided them with the training they would need to make lives for themselves outside of the country. _   
__

_Thumbelina was one of the most influential_   
  
_Changelings of her time. _   
__

_Up until recently, little was known about her. T_   
_hough urban legends of how she was born from a tulip and was no_   
_ taller than a thumb abounded, nothing could ever be proven. Then a little under a year ago, a book was found in the King’s Library. It was titled Searching for Happily Ever After and it was found to be Thumbelina Fairchild’s memoirs. While the volume only chronicled her life up until the point where she began her quest to make a difference in the lives of her fellow Changelings, it was still quite a find._   
__

_The Society for the Preservation of Fairy Tales has decided to publish excerpts from her journal in hopes that a firsthand account of the trials and tribulations suffered by the Changelings during that dark time, will_   
  
_help make all of our countries citizens more aware of what truly went on in our kingdom’s past _   
_. We believe that Thumbelina would be happy to know that she was still changing lives from beyond the grave_   
__

 

**Excerpts from Searching for Happily Ever After**

**By Thumbelina Fairchild**

{}:{}:{}:{}:{}

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched  
With a woeful agony,  
Which forced me to begin my tale;  
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,  
That agony returns;  
And till my ghastly tale is told,  
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;  
I have strange power of speech;  
That moment that his face I see,  
I know the man that must hear me:  
To him my tale I teach.

 

[The Rime for the Ancient Mariner](http://www.online-literature.com/coleridge/646/)

{}:{}:{}:{}:{}

 

My story begins in a small weather worn shack built in the center of a small meadow. The meadow lay near the southwestern border of the Great Wood. My first memories take place inside of its walls. Its dirt floor was where I learned to crawl, the large fireplace was where I learned to cook, and its thatched roof kept me warm on the coldest of winter nights. Despite its mean state, the shack was my home and I have many fond memories of the sixteen years I spent there, living in peaceful normality with my mother. Or at least as normal a life as we could live given the odd happenings that brought my mother and I to that place and time.

 

For those seventeen years I knew few people besides my mother. Our home was remote and the only contact we had with outsiders were the bi-weekly supply runs my mother was forced to make. When I was too young to be trusted on my own, my mother took me with her to get supplies, having no one she could safely leave me with. She would put on her best blue dress, white apron, and leather shoes, before tucking me into a baby sling and making the five mile walk, through the forest, and into town. There she traded her weaving for flour, dried meats, and even the occasional cone of sugar.

 

Usually the townsfolk would not have done business with an unwed woman, but they treated my mother fairly well, despite her unmarried state. She was a landowner thanks to the inheritance her father left her and that garnered her some respect.

 

By the time I was eight or nine, that respect had waned. It had been almost a decade since my birth and my mother had shown no signs of getting remarried, as was her duty. The storeowners and other residents of Black Creek Village felt that it was their duty to shun her into submission. They had no contact with my mother, except for when they pushed unmarried men from good bloodlines towards my mother at every turn. Even as young as I was, I found it strange that there was a different man running the general store every time we visited. However, I did not understand why the strange men made my mother so mad.

 

I remember on one occasion there was a big man standing behind the store counter, he towered over my mother, his black hair and beard standing on end, and he teeth bared in a tobacco stained smile. The sight of him made my mother angrier than I had ever seen her before. Her blue eyes narrowed into slits, her lips were pressed together into a white line, and her hands clenched the fabric of her skirt until her knuckles turned white. With a shaking voice, she ordered me to wait outside. While my mother had always been a strict and hard woman more prone to yelling at my mistakes than laughing at my successes, her unexpected anger was still very frightening and I didn’t think twice about doing as she had ordered.

 

Before I knew it, I was outside on the store’s porch. My back was pressed against the store’s whitewashed wall. I could hear crashing and yelling coming from inside the store and wanted to look inside and make sure my mother was all right. I covered my ears instead. I did want to hear my mother being hurt. Distraught, I slid down the wall until my butt hit the porch and then pulled my legs to myself in a fearful hug. Running my fingers through my hair, I yanked at the ribbons that adorned it, pulling the yellow scraps of fabric out so that my hair fell in front of my face and hid it from view. I did not want anybody to see me crying. Mother hated it when I cried. It was one of the things she yelled about most. I did not want to even think about how she would react to somebody seeing me crying over something as stupid as getting scared by her admittedly impressive anger.

 

I stayed curled up there, for what felt like hours, carefully blotting my eyes with my skirt and trying to stifle my sobs. Eventually the tears dried up and I had nothing to do but watch as people walked by the store. Some of the townsfolk would glance over at me before turning away in disgust, while others stared at me in horrified fascination. All of their gazes made me uncomfortable. My mother rarely looked at me and when she did it was without the intensity that these strangers displayed. One particular old lady was particularly creepy as she seemed to be fixated on me. She even stopped in the middle of the street to glare at me.

 

I stared back at her trying to figure out why this stranger would hate me so much. I could not find anything that would explain her feelings. The only thing even slightly remarkable about her was the fact that she seemed exceptionally tall to me. Everything else about appeared to be normal for an old woman. Her wrinkled skin hung off her cheekbones and drooped underneath her chin. Her hands looked like claws as they gripped the silver knob that topped her wooden cane and her body was completely covered in a black dress. After glaring at me for a few minutes, the woman marched toward the store, her eyes never leaving me. Stepping up onto the porch, she kept walking until she towered over me. I held my breath fearing that she was going to yell at me or hit me with her cane. She did neither; instead she just gave a haughty sniff and walked around me, heading towards the store’s door. Looking inside, she gave another haughty sniff. She slammed her cane against the whitewashed wall, probably trying to break up the fight between my mother and the unknown man. Whatever her intentions were, her presence made no difference as the sound of crashing continued to issue from inside the store. She slammed her cane against the wall again with the same result. Letting out a hiss like an angry cat she marched inside the store her black boots clomping against the store’s floor.

 

The noise from inside the store got louder as a screeching voice joined the melee.

 

A few moments later, my mother came storming out of the store. Her brown hair was is shambles, her good blue dress was ripped and dirtied, and she had a bruise just under her right eye. I jumped up, planning to patch her wounds, but I did not get the chance. As soon as I drew near to her, my mother grabbed my upper arm and dragged me off the store’s porch and down the street. The basket she had brought to carry supplies in, was empty. As was my own. I almost pointed it out, but one glance at her face was enough to change my mind. She still had the pinched look of anger on her face. I decided to assume that she realized we were missing supplies and keep quiet.

 

My mother did not fully calm down until the day after we returned from Black Creek. Even them she was not as calm as she probably wanted me to believe. Due to our hurried departure from town the day before my mother was going to have to make another trip to get supplies. She forbade me from accompanying her. I was both pleased and apprehensive about this announcement. While I found no joy in the supply trips, I also did not want to think about what the townsfolk could do to my mother if they were so inclined. I decided to wait for my mother to finish calming down before attempting to convince her to let me tag along again. After all, it was not as if she could keep me from going with her forever.

 

If I had realized how wrong I was, I would have fought against her decision, but at the time I had no idea that I would never travel to Black Creek with my mother again

{}:{}:{}:{}:{}

 

_Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,_   
_   
_   
_Or answer when you spoke to me,_   
_   
_   
_Because in the long, still dusks of Spring _   
_   
_   
_You can hear the whole world whispering; _   
_   
_   
_The shy green grasses making love,_   
_   
_   
_The feathers grow on the dear grey dove,_   
_   
_   
_The tiny heart of the redstart beat,_   
_   
_   
_The patter of the squirrel's feet,_   
_   
_   
_The pebbles pushing in the silver streams,_   
_   
_   
_The rushes talking in their dreams,_   
_   
_   
_The swish-swish of the bat's black wings,_   
_   
_   
_The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings,_   
_   
_   
_Humming and hammering at your ear,_   
_   
_   
_Everything there is to hear_   
_   
_   
_In the heart of hidden things._

_   
_

[The Changeling by Charolette Mew](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-changeling-2/)

{}:{}:{}:{}:{}

 

I spent the next four years in isolation. My mother was not as quick to change her mind about keeping me secluded, as I had expected. Despite my distaste for being confined, I was reluctant to go against my mother’s wishes and return to Black Creek alone. I had never been close to any of the villagers, and I doubted that they would keep my presence a secret from my mother. I did not wish to find out how my mother would react if she discovered that I had disobeyed her.

 

Some good things came out of my solitary life. I became an expert at woodcraft and learned how to gentle almost any animal. I even had a family of baby raccoons that followed me around like I was their mother, one summer. I learned to enjoy the peace I found in the forest and took to spending every moment I could away from my home and more importantly, my mother.

 

Unfortunately, things eventually changed, as things always did. When I was thirteen my mother became ill. I was forced to spend almost every waking moment in her company and what time I spent away from her was usually spent in Black Creek. While my mother hated the idea of allowing me to return to the village under any circumstance, there was no denying that we needed medicines and supplies. Both of which could only be purchased in the town’s store. Despite our dire straits, it was still almost a month before my mother consented to my traveling into Black Creek.

 

I put on my best yellow shift, pulled my waist-length amethyst hair back and covered it with a scarf; and put on a pair of my mother’s too-big leather clogs before I went. I still looked hopelessly out of place in town. Four years had not been enough time to make me look like the dark skinned townsfolk. My skin was as pale as the milk our family goat gave and my jewel colored hair made me stick out like a robin among a family of sparrows. Despite the pride I took in the fact that my mother said I looked just like my father, I was still intimidated by the hostile stares I received for daring to be different.

 

The storeowner was an old grizzled man with white, balding hair and beady black eyes that were hidden behind a pair of spectacles. When I went into the store, he was standing behind a large oak counter piled high with paper wrapped packages of sugar and flour; and glass jars full of canned fruits and vegetables. Upon seeing me,, he informed me that he did not do business with children and that I should return when my parents were with me. His brusque demeanor took me aback, and it took me a few minutes to find my voice and explain my situation. He did not seem surprised when I introduced myself, but then I suppose it was not hard to figure out who I was given my unusual coloring.

 

He did not seem to care when I explained to him that my mother was sick and he continued to insist that I needed to be accompanied by an adult if I planned to shop in his store. He only changed his mind after he saw the money my mother had given me. After that, he became downright congenial. In the course of a few minutes, he had my supply basket filled with flour, sugar, and dried meats. After that, it was a simple matter to convince him to supply me with what I needed, every two weeks, just as he had my mother.

Bi-weekly supply runs were soon a regular part of my life

 

{}:{}:{}:{}:{}

 

One day, when I was seventeen  and was returning from a supply run, I came across a young man dressed in bright red riding the most beautiful horse I had ever seen. The rider was turning a parchment of some sort back and forth and muttering to himself. I was immediately entranced by the horse and approached the great ebony beast, reaching out to pet its soft nose.

 

Letting out a loud curse, the young man rolled up the parchment and tucked it back into his saddlebag. Looking up he saw me petting his horse. Seeing how affectionate it was towards me, the rider gaped. It took him a few moments but he eventually found his voice again, and informed me that his horse did not like anyone but his rider. I could not help teasing him about that, saying that the horse obviously had good taste. I did not feel like explaining that I had spent four years of my life doing little more than learning how to befriend animals. As I did not want to be separated from his mount and he needed help finding Black Creek, we ended up having lunch together. We shared the noontime meal in an out of the way meadow I knew of from my previous trips to the town. As neither of us was in a hurry to leave, we spent hours speaking of all sorts of things but foremost in his mind was the message he had been sent to deliver. Apparently, a new king had come to power and ordered that all sorcerers and other magic users were to be cast out of the country. I found the whole idea fascinating, as I had not even known there was someone who held power over our hamlet’s lord. The messenger found my lack of knowledge amusing, but he was kind enough to give me a basic overview of our countries politics.

 

That lunch was one of the most enjoyable meals I had ever experienced. Unfortunately it eventually had to end, as both the messenger and I had to get back to our respective lives. While I invited him to stop by my mother's home when he was finished delivering his message to Black Creek, I did not expect him to take me up on it. I knew that if he mentioned me to the townsfolk, they would tell him all sorts of horrible stories about me. Including the stupid rumors they had about me being a magic user.

 

When I arrived at home, I told my mother about my unexpected meeting with the messenger, hoping that such an amusing anecdote would cheer her. I had never seen her turn white so fast. She immediately pulled herself from her bed, her brown hair stringy and her stance unsteady due to her long convalescence. She grabbed my supply basket from me and dumped its contents out onto the floor. Then she began throwing every type of provision she could get her hands on into it. Its wickered sides fair bulged from the supplies she stuffed into it. The contents would surely be enough to feed and clothe someone for near a fortnight.

 

I watched her hurried preparation in shock. My mother had rarely left her bed in the last four years and while I was happy to see her so lively, the urgency she displayed disturbed me greatly. As weak as my mother was, I did not want to think about how her body would react to being pushed so far beyond its limits. After a few dozen minutes of manic packing my mother appeared to calm down. Then she turned to me and I could see the madness in her eyes.  Giving me a serious look she shoved the basket into my arms, and ordered me to leave our home and her presence.

 

I refused. I did not understanding why she would demand this of me. I had just returned home from town, so there should be no reason for me to leave our home again so soon. I told my mother as much. She of course was not impressed by my impertinence, but she realized that I would not be easily swayed from my decision to remain. Giving me a smile that was practically a grimace, my mother took my hand and led me back inside. She sat down in the rickety rocking chair that had stood vigil next to our fireplace for as long as I could remember. Sitting down in it, she used her grip on my shoulders to make me kneel at her feet. I normally would have protested, given that I was still dressed in the yellow shift, I saved for journeys into town. At the time, though, the thought never crossed my mind. All I could think about was what ramifications my mother’s distress, might have on her health.

 

When she began to explain the circumstances of my birth, I became even more worried. My mother had never gone into much detail about my father. She had always said that I looked just like him but she never told me much more than that. I had not expected to learn anything more about him, until my mother was on her deathbed. Yet there she sat, her skin pale, her eyes half-mad, and her bony hand gripping my arm with surprising strength, talking about her most cherished secret.

 

I was immediately terrified. What new madness could have overtaken my usually dispirited, if paranoid mother? Despite the fact that I had always wanted to hear the story she was telling I paid little attention to what she was saying as I contemplated how best to get my mother to bed. That inattention changed when my mother grabbed my arms hard enough to bruise and shook me like a ragdoll, admonishing me to listen well. The physical violence was enough to bring my mind back to the present. I could do nothing but listen with growing horror as the mother I had always loved as my own, revealed the horrible secrets that had lead to my birth. Secrets that were far more devastating than any of the foolish rumors the townsfolk had come up with.

 

{}:{}:{}:{}:{}

'From early childhood, my mother had held two goals for her life, and the first and most important of which was becoming a mother, followed closely in importance by remaining unwed. My mother had seen her father at his most terrible and did not want to end up like her mother, who had the spirit beaten out of her years before my mother was born.  However, my mother wanted a baby more than anything else on earth and she wasn’t afraid to offer her very soul if that was what it took to get one.

 

Of course, as my mother grew older and came to understand how babies were created, she came up with a less dramatic plan. The little town she lived  near, Black Creek, had started as a trappers' outpost and still got a lot of traffic from the trappers who hunted within the Great Forest. Drawing such men’s attention was an easy task for my mother, as she was by no means homely. She soon gained quite the reputation as the woman to see if you wanted to have a no strings attached roll in the hay.

 

This of course caused the people who lived in Black Creek, to shun her as a harlot. Not that she cared. The men she bedded were a means to an end and she was not about to stop seeing them until she was with child. That changed when, after five years of lying with more trappers and hunters than she could name, she had never become pregnant. She could think of no reason for her continued inability to have a child except that some god had placed a curse upon her that had made her barren.

 

For months after she had this realization she floundered. How was she supposed to have a child if the gods had cursed her? Then the answer came in the form of a tall tale told by one of the trappers that passed through the tavern she frequented. Fairies. She really should have thought of them herself, as it was well known that the fair folk were not above going against a god’s will if it served their purposes.

 

It only took her a few days of preparation before she was ready to leave. Everyone whom she explained her plan to had tried to convince her that it was folly, but she would not be dissuaded. She was going to get a baby from the fairies, consequences be damned.  She had no real plan and few supplies, but what she did have was an obsessive will to succeed and a complete lack of fear. The fairy mounds were thirty miles away from Black Creek, which was almost three times as far away from the village as my mother had ever traveled. Had she tried to make the trip by the quickest path, she would have certainly have died; but she had many former lovers among the trappers in the area and by taking a zigzag path from one camp to another she stayed quite safe. However, it meant that she was only able to walk a few miles each day, before seeking shelter. It took her almost a week to reach the fairies home.

 

 

The first sight of the fairies mounds, filled my mother with awe. Despite the fact that she had heard them described as hills, she could see few similarities between the two. The mounds were four times as tall as she was and each of the five hills was a perfect half sphere. They were grouped together so closely that there was less than an inch between them. Green moss, clover and thistles covered the wholes formation.

 

Unwilling to disturb the unusual outcropping, my mother made camp a few yards away from the edge of the eastern-most mound. My mother had packed for a long stay as fairies were known for making people wait when they came to seek audience, so she was very surprised when a fairy came to see her the first night she made camp. Still she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and quickly started the speech she had planned about needing a child to carry on her family line and how no man would take her as his wife thanks to some unmentionable disgrace in her past.

 

The fairy showed no interest in her reasons or platitudes, in fact it did not even wait for her to finish speaking before it agreed to give her a child. For a price. My mother did not even stop to ask what the price was before she agreed to the deal. She was desperate enough for a child that she would have done anything. If she had been thinking clearly, she might have been able to avoid what happened after that. Unfortunately, she did not think. Instead, she agreed to prove that she was a worthy mother by stealing somebody else’s baby and giving it to the fairies. I would like to believe that my mother thought the fairies would treat the child well, but knowing her as I do, I doubt she thought of the child’s wellbeing at all.

 

Upon agreeing to the fairies deal, the smart thing for my mother to do would have been to take a child from an orphanage or off the streets. A child nobody would notice going missing, but that was not my mother’s style. She wanted revenge on the townsfolk who had shunned her for her promiscuous behavior, and taking one of their offspring away appealed to her sense of poetic justice.

 

There were three families with babies living in Black Creek in those days. Any family and any baby would have done but my mother had a grudge she wanted to settle. The baker’s wife had been her friend when they were growing up, but to my mother’s way of thinking the baker’s wife had betrayed that friendship by marrying young and having five beautiful and healthy children.

 

Why should the baker’s wife have such a happy life while my mother was barren?

 

Late one night, a week after she returned to her home, she snuck into the baker’s house and stole their youngest daughter from where she rested between the baker and his wife. Logically she should have been scared of the consequences of this bold act, but all she felt was pleasure at the pain she would cause the baker’s wife and excitement over the upcoming arrival of her child. Had the fairies asked it of her, she would have taken the child all the way to the fairies’ mound.

 

Luckily for my mother, the fairies did not ask her to do so. They had enough experience with humans to know that she would not be able to keep the child away from her parents for that long, so instead they came to her. They used their magic to create a fairy circle in the woods that surrounded Black Creek. The glow that came from the ring of iridescent mushrooms called my mother, like a moth to flame.

 

When she arrived at the fairy ring, my mother could see no sign of the fairies' presence, but she had faith that they would come to honor their commitment.  Pulling the baby away from where she had been half-smothering it in her chest, she placed it inside the ring. It only took a moment for the fairies to make their appearance. The wil’o’wisps they created as they flew around the child, surrounded the babe until she looked as though she had been wrapped in a cocoon of golden light. The light grew brighter and brighter until my mother was forced to look away. Then with a rumble like thunder in the distance, the light disappeared, taking the fairy circle and its contents with it.

 

My mother was distraught; the fairies had promised her a child, and now they had left and there was no sign of a baby. The only sign that the circle had ever been was the tiny sprout of a plant. Enraged, she dug into the ground with her bare fingers, scratching at the earth with no care for the damage she was doing to herself in the process. All the while, she railed against the fairies cheating her out of what she had rightfully earned.

 

She might have continued in this manner had the newly sprouted plant not begun to grow at a miraculous rate. In the span of minutes, it was as tall as her crouching form and bore a bud of dark amethyst. She reached forward to touch the bud, not even noticing the bloody state of her hands. As soon as her fingers touched the petals, it began to unfurl. I lay inside the newly revealed bloom, perfect in every way save for the fact that I had hair the color of the flower that had birthed me and was barely a hand-span in size.

 

At the sight of me, my mother began to scream. Her screams woke me and I began screaming as well. Our screams mingled together and grew so loud that it woke all the residents of Black Creek. Fearing something horrible had happened, the village men came running into the forest carrying torches, knives, and even the occasional gun. Hunters that they were, they quickly found my mother and surrounded her their eyes peering into every shadow, searching for whatever threat had scared my usually unflappable mother.

 

Seeing the grizzled men surrounding her, their worn faces set into grim lines and their hands filled with weapons, my mother feared the worst. She thought that they had discovered the Baker’s missing child and were planning to kill her for her treachery. She tensed preparing for the feel the bite of steel against skin, but nothing happened.

 

The men saw nothing odd about my presence. They all simply assumed that I was born from one of my mother’s many affairs. Even more disturbing than their unprecedented acceptance was the fact that and as far as my mother could tell none of them remembered that the Baker had a fifth child much less that said child was missing. My mother assumed that this lack of memory was caused by the fairies and was pleased with the villager’s ignorance because, she said, it made it much easier to raise a changeling child like me.

{}:{}:{}:{}:{}

 

 Toll no bell for me, dear Father dear Mother,  
Waste no sighs;  
There are my sisters, there is my little brother  
Who plays in the place called Paradise,  
Your children all, your children for ever;  
But I, so wild,  
Your disgrace, with the queer brown face, was never,  
Never, I know, but half your child!

In the garden at play, all day, last summer,  
Far and away I heard  
The sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,  
The dearest, clearest call of a bird.  
It lived down there in the deep green hollow,  
My own old home, and the fairies say  
The word of a bird is a thing to follow,  
So I was away a night and a day.

 

[The Changeling by Charolette Mew](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-changeling-2/)

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Hearing her call me a changeling was enough to snap me out of the dazed state I had fallen into while I listened to my mother’s horrific tale. I could not believe what she was saying. What madness had overtaken my mother and made her believe that I was not her child? Could she possibly be telling the truth? Could I really be somebody else’s child? How could that be? I had always believed the stories she told me of the strange-looking foreign man who had sired me, but now she was telling me that she had not even given birth to me.

 

I feared that my mother had gone mad in my absence. Her sickness often made it hard for her to concentrate and remember things. I surmised that her crazed ramblings were probably just a sign that she was growing sicker. I gave her a brittle smile and slipped out from under the weight of her grasping hands.

 

I carefully wrapped my arms around her boney waist. I carefully braced myself so that I did not fall over as she jerkily tried to escape my hold. She kept insisting that I should leave before the villagers came and took me away. I had no idea who she thought would be coming, since we never had visitors, but I decided to humor her anyway. My hope was that she would regain her sanity once she had calmed down.

 

I told her that once I was sure she was taken care of, I would leave. I of course had no plans to do so. I carefully laid her down on her bed’s straw filled mattress and pulled linen bedclothes over her and tucker her in. Despite her distress, my mother quickly fell asleep. She had little energy left to stay awake after the excitement of the afternoon.

 

Seeing that my mother was settled, I began preparing supper. I decided to make one of my mother’s favorites, fish and potatoes. I was in the middle of cutting up the potatoes when the sound of horse hooves reached my ear. Perhaps my mother had not been as crazy as I had thought. If nothing else, it seemed that she had been right about the visitors, though how she had known was a mystery to me. Wiping potato starch off, onto the apron I had put on over my yellow shift, I went to answer the door.

 

At least fifteen of Black Creek’s men folk were making their way up the path and into the meadow. Almost half of them were on horses and all of them were bearing torches and pitchforks. I recognized the man in the lead as the man my mother had gotten into a fight with, years back. He was grayer and his face was craggy with age, but his size alone made him very recognizable. I braced myself for a fight. I did not know why the men, and more specifically the man that hated my mother, had come visiting but given the fact they were carrying weapons I highly doubted that their presence was a good thing. Once they had reached the house, the leader dismounted and came to meet me.

 

The man did not even bother with the social niceties as he came stampeding towards me, his face ruddy with anger. Grabbing my arm he tried to yank me out of the doorway and into the meadow. Only my grip on the wooden frame kept him from succeeding and even that wouldn’t have been enough if I hadn’t managed to slam the door back shut on his hand. Our shack might have been rickety but my mother had always taken our safety seriously. The door was strong and it was the work of moments for me to slam the bolt home and fully secure it. The door buckled under the man’s assault. I could hear his muffled yelling through the door and the yelling only grew louder as the other village men started to help him in his attempts to bash down the door.

 

I did not even realize I was slowly but surely backing away from the door, until I backed into my mother. The yelling had woken her from her rest and now she was watching the door with the same amount of trepidation I felt. As the door began to crack and creak ominously my mother jerked her eyes away from it and looked down at me. Her eyes hardened, as she seemed to come to a decision. Grabbing my upper arm she pulled me towards the back wall of the shack and the window that was cut out of it. Pushing the deer hide curtain away from the window she stuck her head out and looked around. Seeing that the men were nowhere in sight, she boosted me up and helped me to drop down on the other side of the yard, before throwing the basket she’d originally packed with supplies, after me. I told her I would come back. She told me that I would not, and ordered me to get into the woods before I was discovered.

 

I ran quickly across the meadow, making sure to keep the house between the villagers and myself. I hid myself in boughs of a tall elm tree that lay just beyond the border of the meadow. I watched as our shack’s door shattered and the men went running inside.  Loud yelling ensued. Finally, the leader dragged my mother, still clothed in her nightgown, out into the meadow. They proceeded to fight with each other with much yelling and waving of hands. Every time my mother said something, he seemed to grow more enraged, until I began to fear that he would hit her.  

 

Of course, what I did not know at the time was that he was only remaining so collected because he had a plan. He kept a tight grip on my mother and ordered the other men to search the immediate area for me. The search was not particularly successful as it consisted of poking bushes with pitchforks and complaining about bugs. The leader called the search off a few hours after it began saying that I had obviously run for it and that there was no point waiting before they saw to it that my mother was punished for the crime of aiding a suspected magic user.  I thought he was talking about shunning her or something like that. I wish that had been the case.

 

The man dragged my mother back into our house. Then he ordered the other men to gather wood, which he had them place against the shack’s gray walls. The leader plunged his torch into the wood and it began to burn, ringing the house in flames. I kept waiting for one of the men to get my mother back out of the house, so that she could watch it burn. I did not realize until the house itself was on fire and I could hear my mother’s terrified screams that the punishment was not just having our house burned. It was being burned right along with the house.  

 

I had to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Every instinct I had told me to climb down from my perch in the elm tree and get my mother out of the house. Only the knowledge that I could not get past the village men and into the house kept me still. I knew that my mother would not want me to burn with her, and that was what would happen if I was caught. I had to sit there for hours watching my home of seventeen years burn and my mother with it. She stopped screaming after a hand-full of minutes, but knowing that her body was being cooked like so much meat made me sick. It took four hours for my house to stop burning and by that time the smell of my mother’s body cooking had filled the meadow and spread into the forest.

 

Once there was nothing but cinders left, the village men left the meadow, joking and laughing among themselves. They acted like they had just participated in a barn raising instead of an execution. I was horrified, these men who I had known for as long as I had been alive had destroyed everything that mattered to me, and they were happy about it.  Angry tears streaked down my cheeks as my mind was filled with thoughts all the things I would have liked to do to them. I used the back of my hand to wipe my face off, clenched my teeth and slid down from my high perch. I went over to the pile of ashes that had once been my life and kneeled beside it. I stayed there all night, just staring at the grey powder and remembering the past.

 

For a few days and nights after that, I did not move far from the meadow. I knew the woods surrounding it, better than any of the town’s best hunters and I was sure that I would have no problem staying out of their way if they decided to come back and look for me. I knew I should move on, but I could not think of a place to go. My whole life had been turned on end, and there was nothing I could do about it and nobody I could ask for information. Then I realized that there was somebody I could ask. If my mother had been telling the truth and had gotten me by making a deal with the fairies then surely they would know where I came from and why I was sent to be with my mother. It was a desperate plan but I was grasping at straws by that point.

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_Before I die I want to see  
The world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes,  
There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,  
Yet on brown fields there lies  
A haunting purple bloom: is there not something in grey skies  
And in grey sea?  
I want what world there is behind your eyes,  
I want your life and you will not give it me._

_   
_

[The Road to the Sea by Charlotte Mew](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-road-to-the-sea/)

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Despite the relatively short distance between the burned out husk ash and ruin of my home and the fairy mounds, it took me almost two weeks to arrive at the fairies’ knoll. I had never traveled more than a few miles from my home and found myself lost in the Great Woods with disturbing frequency. A number of times I was so desperate for help that I actually considered revealing myself to some of the trapping parties that were camping in the Great Wood.

 

The memory of my mother burning kept me from acting on these foolish impulses and I remained undiscovered as I made the dangerous journey away from Black Creek. By the time I finally managed to reach the fairies’ home, I had been traveling for close to a month. I was half-starved and completely exhausted. That did not stop me from being amazed at the sight of the mounds themselves.

 

I stood there staring at the fairy mounds for nearly an hour, unable to bring myself to touch them. Speaking with the fairies would make the fact that I was not my mother’s daughter real. Still, my curiosity would not let me wait forever. I laid my hands against the largest hill’s side, feeling the warmth of its magic beneath my palms.  It began to glow a soft golden yellow, then I found myself sinking into the dirt. My heart fairly jumped out of my chest when the dirt covered my head, but a second later I found myself in open air. I was shocked by what I saw. The interior of the mound was made up of large hexagonal segments like a great beehive and all around me there were specks of light.

 

Then the specks began to grow larger. It was not until they had become almost as large as my hand that I could see they were little people with white skin, pointed ears, and jewltoned eyes, hair, and wings. When they had finished growing, they were still only a little bigger than me.  They gathered around me, speaking in a language I could not understand. When they brushed up against me, I could see glimpse of their minds and memories and what I saw saddened me. They might have been my family, but there was little resemblance between their thoughts and mine. They were both more and less than human, capable of logic far beyond anything I could understand and yet they were unable to understand my all too human emotions. I believe they were equally saddened by what they saw in me. To them it must have been a great disappointment to see that I was as emotional as they had feared when they first sent me to my mother.

 

After they satisfied their curiosity and decided that I would be unable to live happily as one of them, the fairies began to shrink back to their former size and flit away until only one of them remained with me. The fairy that remained was not old as such, but there was a sense of severity to it that I did not sense in any of the others. It came closer to me until its hand touched my brow. Something cold radiated from where its fingers touched my skin and I soon found myself frozen in place. Something like a voice echoed through my mind, only I could not hear the words it spoke. Instead, foreign images began to pass in front of my eyes and alien feelings racked my body. If this was how the fairies communicated among themselves, I could definitely understand why they would shun those who were overly emotional. I cannot imagine what damage a human would do if they tried to share their memories and feelings in such a way.

 

After a time, I became almost accustomed to this odd means of communication and began to understand what I was being shown. I saw that the fairy that had made contact with me was my birth mother’s sibling, and while the fairies gave little thought to gender, I could not help but think of the fairy as my Aunt.  She was doing what she thought of as her duty to me by showing me the truth of why I had been sent away as a changeling.

 

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I discovered that I was a half-fairy borne of a human father and a fairy mother.

 

Something had been wrong with my birth mother from the time she was born. She had shown emotions that most fairies could not comprehend, much less feel. In their distaste for dealing with such emotions, the other fairies avoided her. Because of this, she began using her powers to disguise herself as a human and travel into the human villages. Among the humans, she was able to learn about how emotional beings interacted with each other.

 

Despite her family’s warnings about becoming too attached to short-lived humans, she continued to travel among them and eventually became very close with a young human girl. They became best friends and my mother altered her glamour so that she appeared to age at the same rate as her friend. Years passed, and the human girl became a woman, married a human man, and had a baby.  My mother was immediately entranced by the babe. Fairies rarely felt the need to reproduce thanks to their own long-lived existence, and even when they did have children, physical and emotional contact was frowned upon. This meant that my mother found great pleasure in being able to cuddle and coddle her friend’s son. During the first few years of the lad’s life, my mother spent almost all her time among the humans, only returning to the mounds after she had exhausted her powers in keeping up the human façade. That changed after her friend died in childbirth five years after her son was born.

 

My birth mother might have been more emotional than her fellow fairies, but she was still far from human. She saw the fact that her friend's widower remarried a woman who could take care of his young child  as a betrayal and refused to have anything more to do with him or his children. That would have been the end of it but my birth mother was as given to curiosity as any human and as the decades passed her mind would often turn to the fate of her dear friend’s son. Finally, she was unable to stand these thoughts any longer and went to seek the boy out.

 

Once she found him, she was surprised to find that he was no longer a child but a man, fair in face and manner. My mother became enamored with the man and soon began to spend hours simply watching him. Her family despaired to see her once again enamored with a human but even they did not realize the depths of my mother’s obsession.

 

After months of watching the man, unnoticed, my mother felt her heart would surely break if she was not able to be with the man of her dreams, so she once more donned a glamour in order to appear human. Then she began to make a home for herself in town where the man lived. She learned to make bread from the town’s baker and to spin and weave thread from the town’s seamstress. She worked until she became known as the most eligible woman in the town. It was no surprise, really, when the man she wanted was one of the men who asked for the right to court her.

 

In the span of a few months my mother and soon to be father became close enough that he asked her to agree to be hand-fasted to him. She readily agreed, sure that she had finally gained the everything she had wanted since the day she set eyes upon her fiancé. Her family did not share her pleasure and tried everything they could think of to get her to return to their home, but she would not be swayed. As a final, desperate measure three of the other fairies actually attended the wedding, hoping their presence would convince my birth mother that she was making a mistake. She completely ignored their presence and continued on with her plan.

 

For a time, married life agreed with her and she finally found the peace she had been looking for her entire life. She only returned to the mounds when she had absolutely no other choice, and when she did return she rarely deigned to talk to her family, still incensed by their attempts to separate her from her husband. Things would have no doubt continued in this manner for years if it had not been for an unexpected consequence of her bedding down with a human. My mother had failed to take into consideration the fact that she might become pregnant. She had known that halfling existed but she had never realized that bedding a human meant she could bear a half-breed herself.

 

She was immediately horrified by the idea of bearing such a child. If she was pregnant with a half-human baby, then she wouldn’t be able to use a glamour, which meant that her perfect, human life was over. Her first instinct was to get rid of me, but no matter how much she wanted to continue living as a human, she wasn’t willing to go that far. This left two options. Option one was to run away and come back after she had the child. Option two was to tell my father what she was and convince him to help her take care of me. Surprisingly enough, she decided to go with the second option. Perhaps by that time she had truly fallen in love with  him.

 

One night, just before the pregnancy became too advanced for my birth mother to continue using her glamour, she made a romantic dinner for my father.  It included a bottle of strong wine. Once my father was thoroughly drunk, my mother informed him that she been lying to him the whole time.  She was not a simple farmer’s daughter but a fairy. My father became unsurprisingly and understandably enraged. He screamed and shouted at her and threw the dinner she had cooked onto the floor. . He did not strike my mother, but he came perilously close to doing so before he stormed out of the house.

 

My mother left the house that very night, not even leaving a note to explain her absence or inform him of my existence. She returned to the mounds and her family. Her family thought that this meant she was over her obsession with humans. After all, why would she still be obsessed with humans after she had seen how the man she loved had reacted to the truth of what she was?

 

My birth mother was of course not that logical. She had cared about my father and she was both enraged and upset that he would turn against her over what she perceived to be an unimportant detail about herself. She was so obsessed and depressed that she failed to take proper care of herself. It surprised no one when she died in childbirth. Unfortunately, her premature death left her family with the conundrum of how to care for a partially human baby.

 

From the time I was born, I cried almost constantly, and when I was not crying I was screaming. My family despaired of ever figuring out how to deal with me and my all too human wants and needs. They feared that they would have to send me to the nearest human village without any way of knowing if I would be accepted. Then something fortuitous happened. A human came to the mounds begging them to give her a child.

 

Usually the fairies turned such people away, since they did not actually have the ability to make a human pregnant, but they saw possibilities in this woman. One of the fairies went out to meet her and make her an offer. From a human, or rather a half-human, standpoint there was no real reason they couldn’t have simply given me to her, but being logical beings, they wanted proof that she would be willing to do anything to get me. Even sacrifice a human child.

 

A trying week passed, for both the fairies and me, before the woman managed to make the sacrifice. I knew this part of the story from my surrogate mother’s admonition, but seeing it through this fairy’s eyes was a far different experience. While I could almost rationalize my mother decision to agree to the fairies deal, given her emotional state and her long-time obsession with having a child, I could not rationalize the fairies reasons for offering the deal.  My aunt did not even seem to realize that she and her family had done something wrong.

 

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As the image of my mother holding my infant body close to her chest faded away, the fairy’s touch changed. Suddenly I felt like I was standing too close to a fire.  My skin felt tight, as though it were contracting around my muscles and bones, forcing them to shrink. There was pain everywhere, and I could not find the strength to shake off the fairy’s poisonous touch. I have no idea how long I stayed in that  painful state but when I woke, I was outside the mounds. I tried to sit up immediately, only to fall back, unable to hold myself up. As I lay there in the dewy grass, watching the sun rise above the horizon, thoughts began running through my head, unfamiliar ideas and beliefs.

 

Then the full knowledge of how I knew all these new things hit me. That damned fairy had given me a gift, a consolation prize, if you will: my dear aunt's attempt to make up for the fact she did not want me in her life. I now had all the knowledge of how to use fairy powers but barely any powers to speak of. The only knowledge I could make use of was the ability to shrink and I did not see how that ability would help me. Still, it was good to have proof that I was part fairy even if my family refused to acknowledge my existence.

 

When I could finally move without flopping around like a dead fish, I dragged myself back to the mounds on my hands and knees. I was more angry than I had ever been in my life. How dare the fairies, my family, toss me out like so much garbage! I pressed as much of my body against the nearest mound as I could, trying to phase back into the mounds so that I could give the fairies a piece of my mind. Nothing happened. I could no longer feel warmth radiating from the mossy ground. They might as well have just been piles of earth for all the good they did me.

 

I had not realized up until that point exactly why I had wanted to find the fairies. True, some part of me wanted to know why I had ended up with my mother, but a bigger part had hoped that my being sent away was a mistake. I had hoped that the fairies would take me in, give me a home. Obviously, that had been a dashed to pieces. The fairies did not want any more to do with me than humans did.

 

I was going to need a new plan if I wanted to survive. While my first instinct was to go back to the Great Wood and hide out in its familiar depths, common sense kept me from taking such foolhardy action. I was half-dead after a month in the forest. There was no way that I was going to be able to last much longer. I needed to find a way to survive among humans who would gladly exile, or even kill, me.

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_Why did they bring me here to make me  
Not quite bad and not quite good,  
Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite,  
to take me  
Back to Their wet, wild wood?  
Now, every nithing I shall see the windows shining,  
The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam,  
While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us  
are whining  
In the hollow by the stream.  
Black and chill are Their nights on the wold;  
And They live so long and They feel no pain:  
I shall grow up, but never grow old,  
I shall always, always be very cold,  
I shall never come back again!_

_   
_

[The Changeling by Charolette Mew](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-changeling-2/)

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The morning after that, I began searching for civilization. I eventually found a well-worn path to the east of the mounds. It lay a little over two miles from where I camped the night before. I followed the path for two days before I came upon a mansion. It was surrounded by fields and orchards and there was a small outcropping of buildings placed behind the mansion itself. I was not sure how to approach the place, given the fact that I was quite obviously of magical descent but I was desperate enough to take the risk. I watched the comings and goings of the mansion’s women until I was sure that I had a chance of blending in. I carefully wrapped my hair up in a scarf so that it could not be seen and went to the mansion’s back door. I knocked and waited, hoping that someone would take pity on me and give me enough food to get to a nearby town.

 

Finally, a woman came to the door. She was small, only about four feet tall. A foot taller than me, and quite round. Her hair was gray and her face wrinkled She introduced herself as Mrs. Mouse and asked me what a young girl like myself was doing at their out of the way estate. I did not know what to tell her. I had not expected anyone to show enough interest in  me to ask about my presence. It was not as though I could say that I was a half-fairy who had walked from the mounds, knowing what most people thought of the fair folk and what the king had said about casting magic-users from the country?

 

So I lied.

 

I told her that my family had been attacked by bandits and burned alive, but I had hidden away that I might survive. I admit to laying it on thick, but I was very fearful that she would see through my ruse and send me away with nothing to show for my trouble.

 

Thankfully, she was a kind woman and she gave me far more than I had ever expected. She made me one of the scullery maids and covered me in soot, so no one would be able to see my beauty, and she ordered me to make sure that none of the men folk ever saw me without my protective coating of dirt. I gave her my word that I would not, even though I thought she was quite mad for saying something like that.

 

For three months, things went well. The work was hard but the food was good, and the other maids treated me well. I had a comfortable bed in the maids’ quarters. Our quarters lay in the part of the mansion’s attic that butted up against the chimney of the big cooking fireplace and was one of the warmest places in the building. Despite the fact that I was confined to below stairs, I was happier than I had ever expected to be after my mother’s death. I would have gladly continued to live there, had I not run into the estate’s steward while he was discussing the supplies that needed to be purchased in order for the estate to make it through the winter.

 

The steward was a tall, rail thin man with an exceptionally large nose and a stuck up air. He had beady black eyes that seemed to follow me around the kitchen as I did my tasks. It felt like every hair on my body was standing on end. I kept an eye on the fellow for the entire time he was in the kitchen and despite Mrs. Mouse’ best efforts to distract him, the steward did the same.

 

Once he had finally returned above stairs Mrs. Mouse told me that I should keep an eye out for him, as he seemed to have developed an interest in me, despite her best efforts to hide my beauty. I admit that I did not take her warning as seriously as I should have, as I did not change my behavior in the slightest.

 

I was more surprised than I should have been when a week after I met the steward, I woke up in a room that was most definitely not the attic I fell asleep in. There were large windows all along the wall, and the whole room sparkled with cleanliness. The walls were painted a pretty, powder blue and all the furniture was white with blue upholstery. It looked like one of the upstairs rooms I had heard the other maids talking about and it most definitely was not somewhere I should have been. With that thought in mind, I tried to leave, yanking on the door as hard as I could. The knob did not move and I could see no sign of a key. Wherever I was, I was trapped. I tried shrinking down but even then I was not able to escape the door. The door was simply too tightly fit into its frame.

 

It seemed like I had been waiting for hours before I heard sounds coming through the door. The knob turned and, much to my displeasure, the steward entered. His eyes still gave me the willies. He took my arm and rather forcefully escorted me from the room. We walked down two halls and a flight of stairs before coming to a halt before a large wooden door. Steward Mole gave the door a perfunctory rap before dragging me inside.

 

The room that we entered was even bigger than the bedroom that I woke up in.  Every wall was covered in bookshelves. In the center of the room there was a large wooden desk behind which sat a most odious-looking man. He was short and thick with sallow skin, and great bulging eyes. Most disturbing of all was his large mouth that stretched from one side of his ugly face to the other. He gave me a look that sent chills up my spine before motioning for the steward to leave the room.

 

Once we were alone, he began to speak in a high, reedy voice, explaining that out of the goodness of his heart he had decided to take me as his wife. He said that he understood that as a simple commoner I would not be able to understand my matrimonial duties, but he was going to make sure I was taught everything I needed to know. I intended to explain the to the man that I did not want to be his bride, but I never got the chance. Before I had even opened my mouth, the man pressed his rubbery lips against mine. I wanted to throw up.

 

While I was still in shock over his actions, he called Steward Mole back into the room and ordered him to “take care” of me. The steward gave me an amused look. I got the feeling that he knew exactly what had happened between his boss and me — a feeling that was confirmed when he made a joke about Lord Toad moving quickly.

 

Had I been any less cowed by the situation, I would have done my best to rip him to shreds with my own words. I did not like being made fun of. Seeing that I was not going to react to his inflammatory comments, the steward shut up. We walked in silence back to the room that I had originally woken up in. Mrs. Mouse was there, looking positively miserable. I could see that she was biting her lip to keep from saying anything troublesome while Steward Mole was present. Mrs. Mouse made her displeasure about my lack of care known. She also informed me that now that I had drawn Lord Toad’s attention it would take a miracle to get me out of the estate and away from my impeding marriage.

 

Her prediction proved true, as nothing I did allowed me to escape from my prettily decorated cage or my betrothal. As the months passed, I was taught the fine arts of embroidery, dancing, and letter writing. They taught me all the womanly arts save one: music. Neither Mrs. Mouse nor Steward Mole had even a passing ability with music, but teaching me was considered extremely important if Lord Toad was to pass me off as a proper bride.

 

Finally, nine months after I first met Lord Toad, a music teacher was located. His name was Mr. Sparrow and he was hired to teach me how to play the harp. I did not know what to think of him at first, since learning to play the harp was by no means my idea, but I soon  discovered the feel of the strings brushing against my fingers, the carved frame leaning against my shoulder, and music flowing through my bones was intoxicating. When I did not have access to my harp, I found my fingers playing the air. I will admit that I fell a little bit in love with Mr. Sparrow, if for no other reason than the beauty of his music. I often considered telling him the truth of how I came to be living with Mr. Toad but never went through with it. For all he was kind to me, he never liked to talk about anything but music.

 

A year after my music lessons began; Mrs. Mouse came into my room and informed me that I was considered worthy of becoming Lady Toad and that the wedding would happen less than a month from that day. I panicked. I might have become used to my life as a part of Lord Toad household but that did not mean I was prepared to become his wife. I spent every spare moment I had practicing my ability to shrink. Attempting to shrink down small enough that I could escape through the crack under the door. I was not able to manage it and finally, with just days to go before the wedding, I decided that I was going to have to implement my plan, despite the fact that it was not fully thought out. That afternoon when Mr. Sparrow came for my harp lesson, I pretended to be so nervous that I could not sit still. Mr. Sparrow gave up the day's instruction and said that he would be back to teach me again after the wedding. No one would be due to come and check on me for a few hours,  so I shrunk myself down and began the perilous task of leaving the house.

Unfortunately, I did not take into account exactly how long it would take to flee when I was only a few inches tall. Everything in the house seemed to be against me. My only saving grace was that I had enough forethought to leave my door open a crack. I was barely to the stairs when I saw Mrs. Mouse’s leather-shod feet pass me by. It only took a few minutes for her feet to pass back by me, running in the opposite direction. Then there were feet everywhere. I finally pressed my back against the wall, so they could not step on me. Their voices rang out above me, panic and anger sounding like booming thunder. When a young maid followed my example and pressed her back against the wall next to me, I decided to take advantage. I grabbed on to the hem of her dress and climbed up her skirt until I could slip into her apron pocket.

My nerves were shot by the time the maid started running about. I was tossed about as she ran down the stairs. Once she stopped moving, I carefully climbed out of the pocket and slid down her dress. I had made it all the way down to the kitchen, thanks to my unwitting ride. That made escaping the house much easier, as the kitchen door led straight out to the vegetable garden.

The garden was easy to traverse, thanks to its organized design. Each vegetable got its own patch of ground, and a narrow path wound between each section. The path was designed to allow the scullery maids to pick the vegetables and herbs without mussing their skirts. This narrow track of flattened earth made an admirable roadway for me. Its narrow confines looked like a wide roadway when compared to my size. I faithfully followed the trail until I reached the tree line. Once there, I allowed myself to grow to my usual stature. By this point, it was far too dark to go traipsing through the forest, so I climbed up into a tree to wait for daylight. I would get as far away, as fast as I could, as soon as the sun came up.

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_Three summers since I chose a maid,  
Too young maybe-but more's to do  
At harvest-time that a bide and woo.  
When us was wed she turned afraid  
Of love and me and all things human;  
Like the shut of winter's day  
Her smile went out, and `twadn't a woman-  
More like a little frightened fay.  
One night, in the Fall, she runned away._

[The Farmer’s Bride by Charolette Mew](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-farmer-s-bride/)

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I spent the next few months traveling hard and fast, heading north. Close to six months after I ran away from my impending marriage, I started hearing rumors about a show called the Happily Ever After Circus. A show that promised to allow regular people to view cursed beings in all their natural glory. I was both curious and suspicious. I had seen firsthand how people treated those who were different. After asking around about this &lt;i&gt;amazing&lt;/i&gt; show I discovered that traveling shows, that were sponsored by rich and noble patrons, had special dispensations from the monarchy that allowed them to house magical beings as long as they did not provide shelter to magic users. It seemed to me that the circus was the perfect way for me to survive without having to run every day of my life. I decided to seek Happily Ever After out. After a few weeks of searching, I caught wind of a rumor that the show was coming to a city near the out of the way inn where I was holed up. I went to go see one of their performances.

The circus took place on a balmy summer afternoon, on a large grassy hillock just a little ways outside of the city. It was a beautiful location with blooming flowers and large magnolia trees, but the real attraction was a large stage at the bottom of the hill. The circus goers laid out blankets on the hill, jockeying for positions near the stage. I found a place to watch up in one of the magnolia trees. I watched in awe as people performed all manner of feats, from growing plants out of nothing, to changing into animals. I was amazed and entranced.  I felt sure that my own abilities would allow me to fit in with this fascinating group.

 

When the show was over, I approached to circus master to request the a position at the circus. As used to seeing the unusual as he was, he did not show the slightest bit of surprise at my unusual features. In fact, he asked me to join the circus almost immediately. I was pleased. I had thought it would take a lot more than odd colored hair and skin to get me accepted, the man had not even asked me to show him my powers.

 

The other performers were less welcoming. They regarded me with open suspicion, their eyes stared out from the various tents and wagons they lived in. Despite the fact that I knew I was not the oddest looking person at the circus, I still felt uncomfortable with the stares. I wanted to run away and hide, but desperation stilled my feet. There was nothing but a life on the run waiting for me, outside of the circus.

 

The circus manager retrieved a tent and bedroll from the circus’ supply wagon and gave it to me. Telling me to set it up at the edge of the camp. The tent was small, barely big enough for me to lay down inside, and its brown, cloth, walls were covered in patches of various sizes. It was not pretty or particularly warm, but I’d had worse so I did not complain. It helped that the bedroll more than made up for the tent’s inadequacies. I rarely left the tent for the first week, as I whenever I approached one of the performers about helping with the show I was quickly rebuffed.

 

That changed once it was time for the circus to move on to the next town. The circus folk needed all the help they could get to pack up the stage and camp, hitch up the horses, and get on the road. Once they discover that I had a gift with animals, I was quickly put in charge of helping the men prepare the horses. I was taught how tack worked and how to prepare a horse to be ridden or hitched to a wagon. After they discovered that I was a hard worker, who took instruction well the performers became much more open with me. I  was invited to join them at the camp’s central fire pit and share their meals. Their acceptance made life much easier for me.

 

While we were travelling to our next location, one of the other magical entertainers, a bald woman, covered completely in rose tattoos that came to life whenever she wanted, helped me to set up my stage name and act. This would allow me to perform in the next show, which would in turn help me gain some money to buy a proper tent and costume. After discussing the matter with her husband, and the circus managers, the rose covered woman, gave me the name of  the Incredible Shrinking Woman and designed a costume for me. She even offered to pay for the costume, with the understanding that I would pay her back when I could. I agreed having no other real option and was soon decked out in a rather risqué violet and amethyst dress. I was not altogether comfortable with it, but I did understand why it was considered attractive, at least to men.

 

Rapunzel, as I came to know my tattooed benefactor, used the knowledge she’d gained from her own magical ability, to teach me how to harness my abilities. I was soon able to shrink down in only a few seconds, instead of the minutes that it had originally taken me. One of the other circus workers, who specialized in making things created a tiny stand for me and, after I discussed it with the circus manager and his wife, a tiny silver harp. My performance involved me dancing around the stand before shrinking down while holding onto the seat built into my stand. Once I had fully shrunk I flipped so that I was seated on the stand. I played a pretty song and then jumped off the stand and unshrunk before I hit the floor. I felt the performance was a bit unoriginal but bowed to the other performers’ opinions, since they had more experience.

 

I am glad I did since even my first public performance was a big hit. I was soon able to not only pay the other showmen back for my costume, stand, and harp but buy myself a good-sized tent. I became one of Happily Ever After’s most popular performers. I loved my place at the circus, reveled in the fact that I was safe from harm, and worshiped by the masses. I will admit that the fame went to my head a bit, but I had so long been hated or dismissed, that adulation was tremendously flattering.

 

I made friends among the other circus workers and performers. It was the first time I could spend time with people of my own age for any length of time. I learned to play games and sing songs and act like my life was not about to end. It was the first time I felt like I had a home since I had left my mother’s house.

 

I had made quite a home for myself when the next new performer arrived at the circus. At first glance he seemed perfectly average, then I saw realized that the right side of his body was made completely of carved stone. I could not help staring at him as he approached the circus manager. Even with all the magical beings at the circus I had never seen anything as strange as this man. Right at the midline of his body his flesh changed into pale pink marble, streaked with veins of white, maroon, and grey. Despite the odd nature of the right side of his body he seemed to be able to use it as well as he could the part of his body that was made of flesh.

 

Unsurprisingly, the circus manager agreed to take the man on and as the newest performer, I was chosen to help him plan his performance. It was harder than I expected to come up with a viable program. John, as I came to know the man, was a sweet fellow but not a particularly talented one. He had been a farm boy for years before he ran afoul of the witch who cursed him into his present form and did not have a clue how to perform anything besides menial tasks.

 

After many failed attempts to find talent John had hidden away inside him, I discovered his voice. It was the voice of a nightingale. John and I began spending a lot of time together as I played my harp and taught him a number of songs to sing. We grew close during this time and soon we could tell each other anything. I think I was getting close to falling in love with him when it happened.

 

The circus was passing through a market when I saw a flower stall full of the most beautiful tulips I had seen since I had left Lord Toad’s mansion. My eyes remained glued to the flowers as we drove past the stand, and my thoughts continued to return to them for the rest of the day. I made the mistake of telling John about them. He told me that he would get them some for me. I wish I had stopped him, but we were both to used to the safety of the circus. Neither of us thought that anything would go wrong.

 

The mayor of the town the market had been held in, came to the circus’ camp the next day and ordered us to leave. He said that one of our freaks had gone into the village the night before and that he had been dealt with properly. He also said that we would be dealt with in the same way if we chose to stay.  He then threw the charred remains of a body down in front of the circus master. Half of the body was nothing more than burnt flesh while the other half was cracked and charred stone. The body quite obviously belonged to John. I was heartbroken and did not leave my wagon, for weeks.

 

When I finally did, I was a changed woman. Losing John had helped me to finally finish growing up and I was willing to do whatever was necessary to make sure the circus survived as a safe place for those cursed with magical heritage. A place that would keep my fellow Changelings from having to die as John had.

 

The Happily Ever After circus would become John’s legacy, that was my vow.

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_Remember me and smile, as smiling too, _   
_   
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_I have remembered things that went their way-- _   
_   
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_The dolls with which I grew too wise to play-- _   
_   
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_Or over-wise--kissed, as children do, _   
_   
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_And so dismissed them; yes, even as you_   
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_Have done with this poor piece of painted clay-- _   
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_Not wantonly, but wisely, shall we say? _   
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_As one who, haply, tunes his heart anew._   
__

 

[A Farewell by Charlotte Mew](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-farewell-4/)

 

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The End

**Author's Note:**

> I own no rights to the story of Thumbelina, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, or any of the collected works of Charlotte Mew. This story was written purely for entertainment, no profit is sought.


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